The Everyday Adventures of Canada (EAC)
by PENGUINGIRL1210
Summary: Just Canada's every day adventures as he deals with Kumajirou and his "family" while also trying to make himself be a little more noticeable and learn to understand what's good about himself.
1. Chapter 1

1 "Late for the Meeting" (Based on episodes AP35 & AP52)

It's a beautiful, sunny day. The afternoon sun descends upon a stately cabin in the wilderness of Northern Ontario. I wake up to another day.

"Sigh…That was a nice nap…Let's see what time it is," I rub my eyes and look at the clock sitting on my nightstand. "Oh, no! 12:15?! I _knew_ I shouldn't have stayed up late last night reading about teddy bears!" Jumping out of bed, I rush to get myself dressed and ready for the day. Tripping on the way down the stairs, my memory rushes to me, reminding me I have to attend the G8 meeting today—the meeting which I'm late for.

Downstairs, I grab a bottle of water while pouring a glass of maple syrup for my toast, which is about to jump out of the toaster. I rush to fill Kumajirou's bowl with food for his breakfast, too. I hope he's not mad; I didn't see him by my bed when I got up this morning…Come to think of it, I didn't see much of anything because I was running around so fast.

"Here you go, Kumajiro," I hand him his food bowl. He's sitting at the table again, waiting for me to serve him.

"Who are you?" That infamous phrase again. His subconscious knows his owner feeds him each morning, but he himself doesn't know who this mysterious "owner" is.

"I don't have time for that now! I'm late for the meeting!" I tangle my hands tying my tie, and I almost trip again spinning around to grab my toast and maple. I catch of glimpse of myself in the chrome of the stove; my hair is a mess. I look as though my glasses should be tilted to the side, but they're the only things in order.

"Will you be all right on your own today?" I hate leaving him here; I'll have to lock the doors first.

He's too busy eating to respond. I'll put him in the hands of fate today.

"Goodbye," I say before rushing out the door. I hate to eat while driving…and I've quite the drive before I get there.

After miles and miles of driving, I must continue to rush. I arrive at the G8 meeting, and I have to dash to the room; I feel bad running down the halls—I don't want to accidentally bump into someone, but I don't want to be late, either. Of course…I already _am_ late…I don't want to be _more_ late. The plain halls of doors zip by me as I run; I search my memory for the right door—upon finding it, my strength gets the best of me, and the door slams itself open.

"I'm so sorry!" I yell (as much as I can) before noticing the faces in front of me; I recognize them in a split second, and I continue, "Pardon my lateness; a terrible thing has happened! When I woke up this morning, it was already past noon!"

Blank looks. All those blank looks staring at me; how too familiar they seem to me.

"Oh, good. You're here…We've been waiting for you, umm…" Japan says.

A warm feeling ignites inside me, "You have? Oh, thank you. I'm so glad you remembered me!" My smile is so big, I can feel it scrunching my face. I sit in the chair closest to the door so that I don't have to move around too much. Everyone else begins to sit down, also. I feel like part of the group, finally.

"Wow," I ponder, "I can't believe they waited for me. How nice of them. Maybe this means I'll get to share my ideas in the meeting today!" I can dream, can't I?

Time passes, and the meeting is over. Naturally, no one paid attention to me again. Taking my time at last, I mope through the halls, retracing my steps to my car. "Sigh. They still didn't notice me or listen to my ideas. I have a few good ones, but sometimes I'm too nervous to share them because I think they won't listen to me, anyway…Well…time to go home and get some work done…" No sooner do I turn the corner, and I hear a familiar voice call out to me.

"Hey you; I'm talking to you."

"Huh?" I turn. That accent…it's England! I haven't seen him in so long, so it's odd that he's suddenly talking to me now…I wonder what he has to say?

"Hey, America, about the next meeting…"

What? Oh, no. He thinks I'm my brother. "I'm sorry, but you've got the wrong guy; I'm not America." I don't even look that much like him…do I? I dress differently…I act differently…I talk differently!

"Huh? What? But…you do look like him. Are you sure?"

"I don't know how to answer that…" Except that I do. I may look like him because we're twins, but we're very different people at our cores. Looks may be deceiving, but…Wouldn't one think that one's inside person would somehow manifest on the outside? Even just a little? I'm so small of the inside that most people don't notice me on the outside…That's why I seem to be so invisible. Or maybe it's because I look so much like my brother that no one thinks I exist; that there are simply two of him.

"You fool!" I'd know that voice anywhere. "Duh. He is Canada!"

Thank you, France. You're always sticking up for me.

"Right! I knew that…hehehe."

Yes, England. I can't believe you don't recognize your own little brother. You used to take care of me and America when we were kids. I was always the obedient child…Now those two are fighting again. Just like they used to fight over me all the time—territory-wise. Now I'm still confused as to whom I belong; I guess I'm both of their brothers. Sigh. Sometimes it makes me so mad when people forget about me. I may not be super special or really memorable, but I'm someone, and I deserve to be noticed! I'll give them all a piece of my mind one of these days! Arrgg! …Oh, but…not today. I've been through enough already. Plus, I have to get back home to Kumajiro—Oh, I hope he's all right.

"Anyway, Canada, I really am sorry about that," England suddenly says, snapping me out of my daydreaming.

"I…can't think of anything to say back…" At least nothing I'd say out loud.

Home sweet home. The key unlocks the wooden door, and I step inside. The calm smell of pine and maple wood says "Welcome home." I sigh, breathing a deep breath.

"Kumajiro, I'm home," I call; my keys clink on the table. "Kumajiro?" My eyes scan the living room. "Where did he go?" I ask myself aloud. "Oh, no. I hope he didn't run away like _last_ time." But didn't I lock the doors? But…what if I forgot?!

It's rushing time again; the whole house blurs around me as I sprint from room to room, checking every possible hiding spot for that silly white bear. I have no luck in the house. My heart rate increasing, I rush outside; the crisp air pushes against my face as I open the door to the deck and scan the panorama. The trees are swaying in the breeze. I don't see that bear! Where—wait. In the grass before the line of trees begins, there's a white ball of fluff staring towards the sky.

"Kumajiro…" Taking the stairs, I finally have a chance to calm down.

"Hm? Who are you?" he turns his cute face toward me and makes that befuddled look that's so becoming of him.

"Kumajiro," I try to be patient with him, "we've been through this a million times. I'm Canada, your owner."

"Cana-who?"

"Sigh. Come back inside. I don't want to lose you like last time," I grab his paw and lead him upstairs; his fur is so soft and warm. "I have some work to do, so you can take a nap in the meantime."

"Hmmmm…OK."

We return inside, shutting out the Autumn breeze and relaxing in the warmth of the cabin's interior. I place Kumajiro on the couch, and I turn to my work desk; gazing upon the massive pile of papers mounding over the "to do" box, I sigh. I'll never get all this work done. Accepting my fate, I sit down, turn on the lamp, and begin reading.

"Sigh. There. I did a lot today." A neat mountain of papers stands in the "to do" box, and two white sheets lay proudly in the "done" box. "Don't want to get it all done; that way I'll have something to do tomorrow." Who am I kidding? Government work is boring.

A soft tug extends my suit, and a small voice calls, "Hey. I'm hungry. Feed me."

"Oh, is it time for dinner already?" Lifting Kumajiro, I walk toward the kitchen; I'm surprised at how heavy he seems. Is he gaining weight or just growing? "OK, Kumajiro. Let's get you something to eat." A yawn escapes me once we reach the kitchen.

After dinner, the sun sets, and the stars twinkle in the cool air. It's time for bed. Kumajiro likes to lay at the end of the bed by my feet like a watchdog. Clothed in maple leaf pajamas (they're my favorite; I can't help it), I take off my glasses and stumble into bed—I can't see very well without my glasses. It's time to dream again.


	2. Chapter 2

2 "Lazy Days & Butterflies"

My dreams disappear, replaced a fuzzy image of the gray ceiling (which, in the light, is actually white). I miss my dream, though I wonder why it's still so dark. "I had a good dream about pancakes and maple syrup. That sounds good; I think I'll have that for breakfast this morning. What time is it?" I feel around in the dark for my glasses; the red numbers come into focus, "6:00? Oh, but I've never been up this early before. What am I supposed to do? Is it OK to eat breakfast this early?"

Rubbing my eyes, I focus on the white blob of fur at the foot of my bed—Kumajirou. He's still asleep. He must be dreaming because he's pawing at the air as though trying to catch something. It's so cute…I wonder what he's dreaming about…

My simplistic, easily amused self is captured by my bear's cuteness until he wakes up thirty minutes later.

"Good morning, Kumajirou. Did you sleep well?"

Without warning, the little bear begins attacking me with my pillow and yelling "Stranger! Don't spy on me!"

"Stranger?" I whine. I'm hoping he's still half-asleep, but I know the reality.

My favorite time of the day, breakfast, has arrived. The sun is rising, and the cool, Autumn air is circulating. I revel in my favorite breakfast (take a guess), holding on to the magical smell of maple. Also, for reasons unknown, I've decided to try some coffee. I normally don't drink coffee, but I thought I'd try it. Maybe I'm not old enough to fully enjoy it yet; I'm only 19 (well, you know…technically speaking).

The strong smell of the coffee permeates through the entire kitchen in seconds, and the smell makes me feel a little unwell. Nevertheless, I brave the aroma and take a small sip. "Ugh! This is terrible. It's so bitter…" Contrary to what one may think, I have quite the sweet tooth, so I don't like bitter things. The maple syrup bottle on the small kitchen table catches my eye and instills an idea. "I wonder…" I ponder. I pour some maple into the coffee, stirring the drink after. Sure enough, the flavor is slightly better after adding the syrup; maple makes everything better. I still wouldn't drink it all the time, though. It's not my…pardon the pun…"cup of tea." Also, I don't like feeling jittery or rushed…I like to take things easy. The excess energy probably wouldn't help me accomplish things, anyway. I'm helpless sometimes.

Speaking of accomplishing things, I still have more boring paperwork to do. Sigh.

"Can I have some of that?" a little voice asks.

"Kumajirou, you can't have coffee," I respond.

"Not that. The syrup."

"Oh, I don't think you can have that, either." He may be a bear, but he's a…different kind of bear. He can eat some people food without any difficulty, but some foods make him act a little strange. Others he can't have at all—like chocolate.

Speaking of the syrup, it is almost empty again. I'll have to make some more soon. I always love the days that I have to make more maple syrup…

Decisions, decisions…Which one? Which one? I move the pen between choices (some new law or something)…but nothing materializes in my mind. I can't think about these things too long or else nothing ever comes to mind. Sigh. I get up; it's time for a break. There's never much to do, so locating Kumajirou is always my top priority. He's all that I have. Sure enough, the little polar bear is napping on the couch across the spacious living room. Actually, a nap is a pretty good idea right now…

Waking from my nap, I find an empty spot where a bear once lay and a descending sun. "What have I done?! I've wasted my whole day again! I still have so much work to do!" I yell at myself, flailing my arms and running to my workdesk across the room. Then, I remember the empty spot. Where has that bear gone again?

After frantically searching the entire stately cabin, I leave to the outdoors; once outside, I take note of the calm, cool air and the lovely weather. Far below me on the ground is Kumajirou; he looks like he's chasing something—he is running back and forth, jumping every now and then and swatting at the air. As I near him, I notice he's trying to catch a beautiful butterfly. I go to the cluttered memory-filled basement to procure a net and to help him catch it.

The butterfly is quick and elusive, but I manage to catch it in the net! It's so beautiful…especially by the light of the setting sun. Its colors remind me of the sunset.

"Can we keep it?" Kumajirou asks.

"No, silly. Butterflies are meant to be free. He wouldn't be happy inside our house," I open the net, and the butterfly happily takes to the sky, "See?"

With his head jerked toward the sky, Kumajirou watches as the butterfly flies away; he turns his head to the ground, dejected, "Oh."

Another uneventful day ends with dinner and a short nap before I fall asleep. Before dreaming, I think of the butterfly and where it may be now.


	3. Chapter 3

3 "{For Better or For Worse}"

A few more sheets of paper join the other two in the "done" pile upon my desk. For once, I feel accomplished before lunch has begun. Sighing, I stare out the window and into the blue sky. It's such a lovely day; soon, winter will take its reign upon me again, but for now, the slight warmth of the sun and pleasant days linger. I can't help but go outside for a moment and take in the day.

I'm lucky I was drawn outside, for that little bear has escaped outside once again. He's by the trees…and by the looks of it, he's kicking a poor maple tree. Sigh.

"Kumajirou? What is it?" I try to stop him; I don't understand what's gotten into him lately. He's usually not this…rough.

"The bucket's almost full! I'm trying to get more sap out of the tree!"

"Well, you won't get any sap that way, Silly," I strain to pick up the little bear—I really think he's getting heavier every day. Eyeing the bucket below the tree, I see that it's almost full. Ah, I remember that the maple syrup bottle is almost empty…That means it's my favorite time of the month! Maple-syrup-making day!

Once all the buckets of sap are in the kitchen, I begin boiling about five gallons of sap on the stove; the heat and humidity that occurs keeps the house warm all winter. After an hour or so, all the water vapor is evaporated, and only beautiful amber syrup remains. Patience and great focus are required to make syrup; if the sap is boiled too long, it turns into candy (which isn't so bad, but it still makes me sad); if it isn't boiled enough, it will quickly spoil. I've made syrup so often that I always know when it's done: it is the perfect amber color, it is a little thick (though still a little thin), and it measures about four cups (which is, thusly, four bottles of syrup. I go through about one a week).

After the syrup is ready, Kumajirou throws open the sliding glass doors in the kitchen to shoo out the steam, and I clean and rinse the glass bottles before they're filled and set in the cabinet for a later day. Sigh. If I could have any other job or another way of life, I'd work on a maple farm. It seems like such a delicious, easygoing way of life. Now you know why my house smells like maple all the time; this process also produces the most wonderful smell that lingers and seeps into the wood for all eternity.

"Hey," says the little one tugging my shirt, "Can I have some of that?"

Closing the cabinet, I respond, "I'm sorry, but you can't have maple syrup. It's not good for polar bears. It has too much sugar."

"But I'm not a polar bear; I'm a cartoon polar bear."

Sigh. I suppose he has a point. He's definitely not your typical polar bear. I give in and pour a tablespoon of syrup over his usual dry food.

Tasting the sweet, sticky substance, he goes crazy and devours all his food in a great haste. With maddening eyes, he demands more from me.

I'm afraid I've released a monster, and I hide the maple jars in the cabinet above the stove—far out of reach. Even _I_ can barely reach the cabinet without standing on tiptoes.

The doorbell snaps me out of my bored state. Finally, something interesting to distract me from my boring work. I leave my desk and answer the door. The mail has come (it comes late for me because I live in the middle of nowhere…technically; oh, I've set myself up for that one, haven't I?). Sigh. It's mostly junk mail and bills, of course; I never get anything exciting—Oh, wait. My brother sent me a letter. Ripping open the envelope, I slide out the letter and read its contents:

"This is a chain letter. If you don't send this message to three of your friends, your best friend will DIE! Have a nice day."

"What?!" I almost yell. That silly America; aren't chain letters only on the internet? Furiously, I rip the letter to pieces and put it in my recycling bin. "That's the dumbest thing I ever—"

CRASH

"Ah!" In a panic, I rush to the kitchen, the source of the noise, and find Kumajirou lying across from a fallen chair…and the top cabinet door open.

"Oww Oww!" Kumajirou wails, his moaning echoing throughout the entire cabin.

"Noo! The curse is real!"

By the time I had calmed myself and quenched my tears, Kumajirou woke. The doctor assures me he'll be OK; he'd just been knocked silly, though he injured his leg, so he'll have to rest in bed a while. I promise I'll take good care of him…though I'm nervous he may get himself into more trouble. Am I a bad owner? Oh, the thoughts keep swimming in my head…

I swallow my fears and summon my courage, "Come on, Kumajirou. Let's go home."

The little bear's haze eyes stare straight into my eyes, "Who…are you?"

"Oh, no," the doctor says, "It seems he has amnesia, too."

"No," I respond sadly, "he always says that."

I carry Kumajirou upstairs and lay him in my bed; I fluff the pillows and make sure he's comfortable.

"Why do I have to stay in bed?" he asks.

"Because you've hurt yourself, silly. I don't want you to get hurt again…" I really shouldn't worry…although…

"But what if I get bored or hungry?"

"I'll get everything for you, so don't worry. If you stay in bed and rest like a good bear, I'll give you some more maple syrup."

That piqued his interest.

Solemnly, I return to work, hoping it will numb my worried thoughts. Naturally, it doesn't. I can't keep my mind off worrying for that poor, little bear. I know it sounds silly, but I really worry for him…partly because he's one of my only friends. Though he doesn't know who I am most of the time, I value his company, and I like having a pet around to know I'm not alone. Sigh. That sounds depressing, doesn't it?

The doorbell rings, and I quickly answer its call, hoping it holds something to free my mind…or perhaps another friend to console me. It's neither—a package has come for me. Still, I guess it's a good thing. Did someone send me a present? Oh, my brother sent me something! I rip open the box enthusiastically; I am disappointed it holds something that is familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time… It looks like maple syrup, but…the bottle is plastic, and the color is all wrong. A piece of paper flutters to the floor, and I pick it up, noticing it holds letters:

"'Sup, bro? I got tired of relying on you and your slowpoke ways of sending me maple, so I tried making my own! It's totally awesome, and I know you'll think so, too! Let me know what you think!"

…Umm…I'm afraid to find out…Yet, I'll humor him. I guess he tries. Although, I hope he's not trying to be better than I am in _this_ way, too…Maple is _my_ thing, after all…

Opening the bottle, an odd smell produces…one of more sugar than maple if you know what I mean. I spread some syrup on my finger for a small taste. Instinctually, I mumble a complaint and swallow quickly, hoping the taste will leave my mouth.

"That was horrible! What's _in_ this?"

Ingredients: Corn syrup, random things I cannot pronounce, less than 2% natural or artificial maple?!

It's a disgrace! Ahh! I throw a quiet fit for a few minutes before realizing I'm supposed to tell him my opinion sooner or later. Hmm…Well…I don't want to hurt his feelings…Then again, he'll never take me seriously, anyway. He's too sure of himself ever to think he has any faults. Then again…what if he gets mad? Oh, forget it. I'll think of something tomorrow…It's getting late…

I throw the disgrace back in the box and set it in the top shelf of my closet, where it may forever rot.

I take a nice, long shower and change into pajamas. I feel utterly refreshed and relaxed…as though the water washed away all my doubts and troubles…

That is, until I remember Kumajirou has possession of the bed.

"Oh…right…" I mumble.

Well, I shouldn't move him; he looks so comfortable. Anyway, I promised him I'd let him alone… Well, maybe I'll just lie at the end of the bed like he usually does—like a guard dog. If it's good enough for him, I guess it's good enough for me. I lie down sideways across the mattress, my head facing the bear's feet. Is he really that tall or is he stretched out? Sigh. I hope I don't get too cold…and I hope I don't feel uncomfortable tomorrow…or…sigh…Slowly, I doze off, and nothing matters anymore. In my dreams, everything is perfect.


	4. Chapter 4

4 "{It's Nice to Know Someone Cares}"

"I'm sorry…I didn't mean it…it's just…I…" I whimper. My pleas feel distant—like I can only hear their echoes and not my actual voice.

"You're gonna get it, Bro. You think you're so great?!"

"Please, no!"

"You'll pay for this! Take it back!"

I run, but I can't get away. The world spins around my feet. Suddenly, I feel faint, and everything begins to fade…

"You'll pay!"

"I can't…I can't…I can't…"

Suddenly, everything's gone—all I can see is Kumajirou's face looming over me.

"Can?" he keeps repeating.

"Can?" I ask, lifting myself and rubbing my head. "Oh, no. Was I sleep-talking again?" Then, I realize it was all just a nightmare. I guess I really _am_ afraid to tell America about his—ahem—"syrup" after all.

Sighing, I get up and head straight to breakfast—I'm too lazy to get dressed.

Kumajirou is still sitting on the bed, as though in a trance, saying "can" over and over.

"Are you hungry?" I ask, lifting him to my shoulders. "You were such a good bear yesterday, so you get a special breakfast this morning."

At the bottom of the stairs, I set Kumajirou down, telling him to wait for me in the kitchen. I have unfinished business to attend to. Begrudgingly, I remove the package from the closet and take it with me. Maybe I could send it back…

Once in the kitchen, I conceal my mood, "Are you ready for your special breakfast?"

"Do I get to eat those fluffy things you eat?" It seems Kumajirou is his normal self again; maybe he was still half-asleep.

"No, silly, but you _do_ get a special treat on your food." I set the package on the table, using my free hands to scoop the little bear his food (he likes dog food, for some reason) and to set the dish on the table.

He stares at the food for quite some time, as though inspecting it. Then, he looks at me with sad, blank eyes.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Th Can."

"What?"

"Th…Can."

"The can? What can?" I'm not sure what he's talking about…maybe the maple syrup bottle? "Let me get your syrup for you." As soon as my hand hits the fridge, the phone rings from across the kitchen. My face pales. Oh, no. I realize I can't ignore the call; my brother knows I'm almost always home with nothing to do, and every time someone pays me heed, I take that opportunity with great haste and a beaming smile. Sigh. It's time to face the music.

"Hold on; I have to answer this…" Slowly, I near the phone and pick it up. Instinctually, I hold it far from my ear and closer to my mouth because he always shouts.

"H-hello?" I say.

"Yo, Bro! G'morning!"

"Uhm. Yes. Good morning, eh?"

"What'cha doin?"

"Oh, just having breakfast…" Oh, no. I shouldn't have said that.

"Oh, I bet you're trying my syrup then, right? What do ya think? Great, isn't it?"

"Oh…Well…Words…definitely can't describe it…"

"I knew it! It's awesome just like I am!"

"Uhmm…Sure…"

"Hey."

"W-what?" I jump.

"You're not jealous, are you?"

"What? Me? N-no…I…just…"

"Ha. Just kidding, Bro! You know I like to mess with ya."

"Sigh."

"So, you want me to send you more? Maybe we could trade or something."

" _More_? I mean…well…No offense, but…it seems more…your style—Do you know what I mean? It's just…"

"Man, Matt. You and your fancy stuff. Those guys are rubbing off on you."

"S-sorry…" I don't know why I apologized.

"That's OK. More for me!"

"Sigh." Finally. I did something well and avoided conflict.

"That's settled then. Thanks!"

"Uhm. For what, exactly?"

"See ya later, Bro! Hero out!"

The phone reverts to a dial tone; I never even got to say goodbye. Sigh. He's always going a mile a minute…

"Ah! Ah!"

I feel pawing at my feet, and I look down; Kumajirou is clinging to me for dear life.

"What's wrong?!" I drop everything and attend to him.

"I…I think I'm dying…"

"What is it?! Do you have pain?" I try to calm him down by petting him.

"No…I think I just ate poison."

"Poison?"

"That…stuff…" he points dramatically to the cardboard box. Dummy. I forgot to move it. Even _he's_ spoiled enough to tell.

"No, Kumajirou. I don't know _what_ that is."

Eventually, I am distracted from all my cares by delving into my mind-numbingly boring paperwork. Surprisingly, I've worked a lot harder today than usual. Must be the frustration.

"Hey, you."

"Yes, Kumajirou?" I'll take this as an excuse for a break. Maybe he's hungry again...or maybe he wants to go for a walk; it's such a lovely day.

"Who are you?"

My heart breaks.

"Don't you remember me at all?"

"You're that guy that feeds me, right?"

A smiles beams within me, "Well, yes..."

"Well, you're so nice...but...I don't know what your name is, so what am I supposed to call you?"

I'm so happy I could fly away, "You really want to know my name?" I pick him up and throw him around like a little kid who's just done something wonderful.

"I guess."

"All right, then," I sit him down, and I prepare my best lecture. "My name is Matthew, but you can call me Canada. Can you say that?"

He looks at me curiously and repeats, "Can...da."

"Can _a_ da."

"Canda."

"Eh. Close enough."

"Canda?"

"Yes?"

"I'm hungry."

I knew it. But somehow...I don't mind at all. I'm on cloud nine.

"All right then! Let's get something to eat!" I run to the kitchen with enough invigoration to remind me of my youth (though...I'm still young...aren't I? At heart, yes...but...).

I suppose even the saddest of days can hold something wonderful—and that wonderful something seems even better when paired with the troubling events of yesterday.


	5. Chapter 5

5 "Take to the Lake"

Whenever the heat begins to go away, I always feel a burst of energy every morning compelling me to go outside and enjoy the days (before my infamous winter comes—not that I mind winter, of course). Today, all I can think about are the crystal lakes and soft, serene blue skies…

"We're going to do something today!" I exclaim once my breakfast is almost gone.

"What do you want to do?" Kumajirou mumbles with his mouth full.

"I keep thinking about the lake…" I drift into daydreaming once again—like drifting on waves. "We should go canoeing today!"

"You mean those weird boats I can never get to go straight?"

"Uhhmmm…I suppose—but they're not weird!" The things he says sometimes.

"Ahh! What a beautiful day!" It's so perfect outside, I could just fall back and relax all day; the temperature is just right, and the wind isn't too blustery. Kumajirou, being a polar bear, likes it better when the sun isn't too hot; so, he's happy today, too, as he walks closely beside me while scratching his face.

"Here's the canoe. We both have to carry it; it's very heavy." Straining, I turn the boat upright so that it's even taller than I am.

"How are you supposed to _carry_ that?!" Does he ever stop complaining?

"Over our heads—like they used to do in the old days!" Demonstrating, I cover my head with the end of the boat as though it were a hat.

"I'm pretty sure they didn't do stuff like that back then."

"Sure they did…" I try to make things seem fun, but nothing ever seems to amuse him. Sigh. Is it me?

The nearest lake is just through the maple forest behind my house, so we always walk to the lake; it's more scenic that way. Though, of course, the walk seems to drag on forever when weight is added to it.

"I'm tired!" the constant wailing persists behind me.

"We're almost there…" I groan, rolling my eyes.

Sure enough, the luminous blue waters sparkle in the sun and beg all weary travelers to abandon themselves in relaxation.

"We're here!" I yell jubilantly, almost dropping the heavy canoe on us when I instinctually lift my arms to the sky.

"Finally! Drop the boat!" Kumajirou strains.

Adroitly, I flip it to the ground, and the little bear follows, toppling over the rim and onto the wooden surface. Panting, he remains there a while to catch his breath. Sighing, I let him relax a minute.

"So," he gets up from his resting place, "How do we steer this thing again?"

"Well," I explain, "You get the oars, and…" my face freezes in shock as though a ghost just ran through me.

"What?" Kumajirou's head tilts in question.

My head falls, "I forgot the oars."

"What?!"

After another trip, I can finally explain the process. Pushing the canoe into the water, I find the right words. "OK. You stay there in front, and I sit in the back. The person in back does all the steering; but, it's opposite what you would think: paddling on the right takes you to the left, and paddling on the left takes you to the right."

"My head hurts," he puts a paw to his head and feigns illness.

"Don't worry, you're the motor. The harder you paddle, the faster we'll go."

"Really?!" his eyes beam.

"Yes. Ready?"

With a most serious expression, he sets himself in his seat, stares forward, puts his arms to the right, and declares, "Ready!"

"All right!"

Alternating sides frequently, I propel the canoe with strong, long strokes. The water ripples under us, making a calming sound. All the sudden, water flies everywhere like someone had placed a sprinkler in the boat. "What?" Looking forward, I notice Kumajirou, utilizing all his enthusiasm, is splashing bombastically every which way—getting us nowhere fast.

"What are you doing?" His silliness almost made me laugh uncontrollably.

"Paddling!" he answers confidently.

"Kumajirou…" I try to explain, stifling laughter, "That's not how you paddle!"

He stops abruptly, "It's not?"

"No, silly. Watch me."

His eyes widen, like TV screens, and peruse my every move. Finally, the light bulb goes on, "Oohh." Carefully, he copies my movement, and the canoe flows smoothly through the water's glassy surface.

"There. Much better!"

"This is fun!"

It seems like our trips always end up like this; I don't mind, though. I like to see him always suddenly get it and continue in confidence.

The cool breeze flies across the lake, all the birds sing in the distance, and dragonflies drop by every now and then to say "hello." It's so nice to get out and enjoy the day every once in a while. If only…

Once we row around the perimeter and come to the center of the lake, I stop, stretch, and lay back for a nap. This is quite possibly my favorite place to nap (Kumajirou's is on the couch or in a snowbank—though I caught him hibernating in the snow once; I almost had a heart attack).

"Don't take a nap!" the little bear pleads.

"Don't jump around so much; you'll tip us over. I'll just be a second, I promise."

"Oh, whatever," he ignores me and dips his paws in the water, splashing and looking for fish.

Closing my eyes, I'm enveloped in the sounds of nature…

"Uh, Canda?" a little voice calls from afar.

"Hm?" I sigh, drifting from a soft, fluffy dream.

"You might want to wake up…" Kumajirou suggests.

"Why? It's so relaxing…" I begin humming a nonexistent tune I found in my heart.

"Because. You've been asleep a long time, and it looks like it's gonna rain now."

"What?!" As soon as I yell, a torrent drowns us, and we both scramble to shore, paddling frantically like Kumajirou was doing before. It feels like we're trying to canoe underwater; I'm sure we're going to drown, and I begin panicking.

Finally, we slam into shore, and Kumajirou jumps into the veil of rain, yelling back to me, "Come on!"

"But—the boat!"

He comes back and tails behind me, holding up the back of the boat. Now safely under cover, I can snicker a bit about the whole experience. It's good to enjoy these kinds of days while they last.


	6. Chapter 7

7 "Some Things Never Change"

Waking up, I can already tell today is an ordinary day. If I open the blinds, the sun will probably be coming through the trees, and the sky will be an overcast light blue streaked with white like a painting of clouds. And, if I happen to shift my feet, that silly bear will yelp and slap my ankle like it's a fish that startled him in the water. Sigh. Nothing fun ever happens. And so, on cue, I do all the things I mentioned, and I was right about everything. As usual.

Rubbing my eyes, I retire to the bathroom to get ready before breakfast for a change of pace. It feels nice to stand under the shower's cleansing water. At a loss, I dress in something partly fancy to avoid my usual lazy, cabin-style, around-the-house clothes. I look kind of pale in this light blue dress shirt, though. Whatever. The tan pants probably don't help, either. As I comb my dorky hair, the door creaks open, and the little bear peeks his adorable face inside.

"What was that noise?" he arbitrarily asks over my customary quiet greeting.

"What noise?" I ask, clueless.

"When the water was running, it sounded like music was playing or something."

"Oh. I was singing." I often sing when I'm alone—it's not too loud, so I'm surprised he heard me. It's kind of embarrassing, actually…

"You can do that?" he inquires, tilting his head and pushing away the door to stand inside the bathroom. "Teach me," he requests, falling to a seat on the ground like a humble student.

"Uhhm. OK." I hum a little while trying not to sound so quiet like I usually do. The soft melody gently bounces off the walls and embraces me. "You try."

"Hm hm hm hm hm." The little bear vocalized in monotone without any sort of melodious aspect.

"That's…not really it…"

"Well, I don't know. I'm just a bear."

Sigh. The things he says sometimes.

I know I'm tired of the monotony, but I never mind having my favorite breakfast every day. Pancakes and maple always cheer me up when I'm feeling down. I don't know why, exactly—the sweetness of the maple envelops me with warmth. Sighing, I look out the window while eating slowly and muse what I could possibly do today. I'm sick of work, and I don't want to waste time being lazy around the house; plus, I just cleaned, so I don't really have a reason to do that… Unless I want to revisit the dreaded dungeon of junk.

Just then, the doorbell penetrates the silence with a delightful chime.

"I'll get it!" Kumajirou exclaims, throwing down his food bowl and sprinting away to the door without wiping his face.

I wonder who it could be at this hour? I hardly ever get visitors, so it means a lot to me when someone happens to come by. I don't think there's any government work today, so it's probably one of my friends or (most likely) one of my brothers. Sigh. I'd better brace myself and expect the worst.

Without warning, Kumajirou comes bursting through the door, screaming for his life. Sliding on the tile floor, he dodges the table and ducks for safety behind me.

"What is it?"

"There's a stranger at the door!" he yells, hiding his face.

"Kumajirou, you think _I'm_ a stranger."

"For real! It's a creepy stranger!"

Sighing, I leave him be and go to see for myself—though with reluctance just in case this is the one off chance he's actually right. But I bet he would have been captured or the stranger in question would have either fled or ambushed me by now. Once the kitchen is behind me, I have a clear view to the doorway, which provides an undisturbed view of France.

"Oh, it's _you_!" I say in happy surprise while quickening my pace to the door.

Rocking heel-to-toe, he folds his hands behind his back and has an odd smirk on his face. "May I come in?" he asks politely.

"Oh. Of course… Sorry—"

"Bonjour, mon choux-fleur!" is the cry and hug that comes, interrupting my words and constricting my lungs. "I missed you, you know!" He backs away, allowing me to breathe again. "I just thought I'd drop by for a visit. Are you doing well?"

"Uhh. I'm OK. I'm sorry about Kumajirou, though."

"Oh, your bear. Cute. Cute, cute," he shakes his head to each "cute." "He really is something, isn't he?"

"Something" is definitely a word… I don't know why he's so afraid of France.

With a big sigh, he stretches his arms to the sky. "But I'm probably bothering you, aren't I? I don't want to interrupt if you have plans…"

"Actually, I don't have anything to do today."

A glint appears in his eye. "Oh. Really? Well, I hope you don't mind if we do something today, then. It's been a while since you've spent quality time with Big Brother France!"

"Um. I guess so…" Has it really? I thought he randomly dropped by a couple months ago. "You're still standing outside."

"Oh, am I? Silly me." Ignoring his oddly spaced-out mood today, he twirls inside and shuts the door in one, fluid motion. Then, taking no cue, he wanders around the living room and peruses some items, often stopping to straighten throw pillows or pictures or to neatly fold blankets. "I like to welcome nature inside my house. The air, the flowers, the birds…" After his little monologue, he falls on the couch and relaxes as though he were home—as usual.

I don't know why that, even though he visits me more than the others, he always seems to be so different as though I haven't seen him in years. It seems like I can never figure out what he'll say or do next. Most likely, though, it will probably involve food or wine. Though, he still seems strangely off today; there must be a lot going on that I don't know about…

"So…what do you want to do?"

"Oh, no," he insists. "I'll wait for you to finish breakfast." As usual, the epitome of elegance reclines, legs crossed, on the couch and runs through his hair—letting a strand fall and rise. Does he always do that?

"How did you know?"

"I can tell—I can smell it!"

I may never know.

Once the dishes are washed and put away, I leave the kitchen to find Big Brother leafing though a book as he stands before the bookshelf. Oddly, as soon as I call to him, he rapidly (but adroitly) shuts the book and assimilates it to the shelf as though it had never left.

The right words slip my mind, and so I can only offer an awkward, "Kumajirou is afraid to come, so I guess I'll have to leave him here. He'll be fine on his own."

"Oh, really?" His shoulders drop. "That's too bad. Do you think he'll be OK by himself?"

"I've left him alone before…" my voice trails off. Why do I get the feeling he misses KJ more than he missed me?

"Well, off with us, then!" Enthusiasm suddenly appears again, and, without warning, he wraps his arm around my shoulder and whisks me outside. "Maybe just a walk? I know you like to boast about the nature around here…"

It's true that I love going for walks and hikes and other naturely things (If that's a word), but sometimes I get bored of it because I do that all the time. But, especially now with the unusually pleasant warm weather and cool breeze, I don't have the heart to tell him I'm bored of doing the same things all the time. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that he usually visits when he's feeling lonely. An unfortunate trait I inherited.

"Sure, OK." I brush off my feelings.

Suddenly, he stops dead in his tracks at the bottom of the back door's staircase. Staring intently at the modest shrubs and randomly-cut grass that surround my humungous cabin. Quietly, the staring resumes for a while.

"Uh. What is it?" I'm hesitant to ask.

"But you don't have many flowers around here," he waxes poetically as though resuming a monologue that wasn't previously established. "Just trees reaching toward the sky."

"I like trees…"

"But flowers make you happy!" he commands his point in a blunt way before realising the sudden accusation and sighing. "You don't have to listen to me…I just think it would be nice, that's all…" Ignoring me, the odd stranger then lifts his head to the sky, closing his eyes and listening to the voice of nature.

As ridiculous as it sounds, I cannot garden to save my life. Sure I can plant and tend to maple trees, but flowers always seem to wilt at my touch. It's scary. That's why I just let nature do its own thing. Maybe my hands are too cold or something?

And so, the strangeness of the hour resumes as we nonchalantly hike through the trees, past my usual canoeing spot, and toward the mountains. Most of the journey has consisted of silence so far—a kind of yielding to the sounds of ambient life. Which, when you think about it, is kind of strange. The calm has been interrupted occasionally by random comments about the scenery or about things that happened in the past—when I was young and more unknown than I am now (if that's possible).

And then, a feeling brushes over me, forcing me to do the impossible. I ask him if he's feeling OK today.

At first, he glances at me curiously, wondering if the words I said were even real. Then, with a partially downcast expression, he turns away and stops in the grass. Taking a deep breath, he turns back, simpers, and pats me on the shoulder. "Only if you agree to let me make dinner."

Every time he has come to visit, he for some reason or another never lets me go to the local marketplaces (which he insisted I have) for his usual "creative genius walks" which consist of inspiration that appears from thin air resulting from the aromas and sights of fresh food. I always believe in planning ahead for things, and so I never get his ways of "impromptu dinners inspired by moods." Either way, I'm glad I stayed back because Kumajirou is getting in his usual restless fits again.

"Did you send the stranger away?" he asks, pawing at me while I force myself to succumb to boring paperwork.

"Kind of. He's bringing us food."

"He's bringing food?" The little bear's ears perk up, and his jitters suddenly cease. "Well, that's good. I don't mind him then if we get food!"

Sigh. And then, without warning, the front door slams open, denting the nearby wall, and a procession of ingredients proceeds directly to the kitchen, which is then locked shut. No exchanges of words and no other indications are made until at least 8:00. Once again, my life is eerily quotidian.

I know better than to bother le Chef when he's on his usual bouts in the kitchen. He used to let me help when I was younger, but that was mostly an ulterior motive for him trying to culture me and teach me what food is—a long series of lessons that were eventually (unfortunately) destroyed into oblivion by brother America. Sigh.

But I never minded the time we spent; it was nice because he always seemed happy, and the house always smelled nice a few days afterward—as the memories and aromas slowly dissipated. Great. That must mean he's _angry_ today—not sad. That figures. Or maybe it's a lot of different things.

Either way, I let him be and bide my time wallowing in boredom and walking outside once again to inspect whether I really should hire someone to plant flowers outside.

Finally, the sun begins to descend, and the air becomes too frigid for me to stand outside anymore. Returning in the house, I expect to find solitude among the rooms and a sleeping bear upon the couch—both of which I predicted with my now practically "psychic" sense. I can go in the kitchen now without being cautioned to leave or kindly requested to wait outside, lest I disturb the work flow. And so, I nudge the door gently, and a grand profusion of elegant smells pushes me back (but, all at once, invites me in at the same time). The wide screen doors are open to help relieve suffering from the heat produced by the oven and the stove, and the careful quiet is articulated by the sound of birds' calls in the distance.

As usual, I have never seen this kitchen more pristine. Everything looks straight out of a book or interior design magazine. Everything has been organized (not that it was messy, per se…), and all the dishes are spotless—as though the food manifested from thin air rather than mechanical means. Only a few pots and pans (probably recent) are still air-drying on a white cloth towel beside the sink, and the table is set in a manner befitting of a fancy restaurant. And, completing the scene, is the chef—in total concentration—staring at the countertop before him (most probably plating the food). I could scream, and he probably wouldn't notice. Still chilly from being outside, I go to shut the door, but he catches me as I go—noticing the subtle shifting of my feet upon the tile floor.

"Please sit down," he instructs quietly—almost stoicly but so definite that it could quite possibly be the most emotional thing he's said all day.

I nod even though he can't see me, and I sit once I prudently close the sliding door—the sound of the latch clicking shut piercing the contemplative quiet.

The table is already set with a small basket of bread rolls, a bouquet of flowers flowing from a vase, a glass of ice water, and a bowl of cream of mushroom soup with steam puffing from its surface. Setting his tall, white chef's hat aside, he serves me my plate, cautioning the fact that it's very tepid. I guess they warm plates so that the food stays warm when you eat slowly. You're supposed to savor, you know. And, with no real expression of emotion, he sits across from me—in my usual spot on my small table.

Once again, I stare at the meal in disbelief; the chicken is perfectly-shaped, and the potatoes look like fluffy clouds—lighter than air. And the few haricots verts are stack like they're a part of a sculpture. It's like a masterpiece, and I always feel bad to ruin it.

"Why are you nervous? Don't be!" His mood seems to have suddenly perked up slightly; that's a good sign.

I dunno. This food is familiar, but I'm always afraid that when he cooks for me I'll think it's something weird or that I won't like it, but that never happens. He could make wood taste like a miracle. Plus, I forgot the right way to eat fancy food…besides savoring. Which fork is which again? And…

Shyly, I look up. "Are you feeling better?" Once again, the words just came.

He breathes a soft sigh. "I was just thinking about the past… I'm sorry if I seemed too bossy back then. I just wanted to try to teach you something…" He always liked being seen as the "Big Brother," but I was really the only one who took him seriously. Could have been naïveté or maybe blind adoration.

"I understand…" I nibble on some bread.

"Just be yourself—whoever that is."

For some reason, his random profound advice makes me smile and feel better. A more empowered individual for the future.

"But if you ever change your mind about the flowers…" his voice trails off.

"I know. I'll call you."

A wink finds me beside the pot of colorful flowers.


	7. Extra Side-story One

EX1 "KJ Holds a Business Meeting"

Oh, no. Today is the big day. I have to hold a meeting for something really important, and I just know that no one will notice me! It's imperative that I get my word in, so how will I do that? Sigh. I wish I were loud and confident with myself… Maybe I can ask someone else to help me…

And so, I roll through the possibilities in my head:

Scenario one: "Sure, Bro! I'll help!" My brother America gladly agrees. But, at the meeting, "So, in the end, you should listen to everything I say! And work with America to give him tons of money!"

No, no, no! That will never happen! I just _know_ he would do something like that!

Scenario two: "What? Why can't you do it yourself?" A practical and somewhat unamused England responds. "I have lots of business to attend to, as well. I can't concern myself with others' affairs."

Yah. He wouldn't want anything to do with it.

Scenario three: "What?" An overdramatic and somewhat-genuinely-concerned Big Brother France would reply. "Don't give up, Mattie! I believe in you, my little Maple Leaf~!"

Of course. His answer is always a hug and a smile. Plus flowers for good measure.

I don't even have to ask them; their responses are already second-nature to me. Sigh. If only there were someone who isn't afraid to say what's on his mind and who will also listen to what I say.

As I mope in bed, the little bear at the foot of the mattress begins to swat the air and scream, "Get away, Creepy!" He must be dreaming, for a soon as he throws his remark of rejection, he rolls over and yawns, rubbing his cute, furry head.

Yah… Maybe that could work…

And so, with an artist's concentration, I set the little bear on a stool in the bathroom and dress him in a dapper tie and coiffe his hair so he looks presentable. Hm…good, but it's missing something… I know! I swipe the glasses off my face and carefully place them on the bridge of his nose. Perfect! They'll never know the difference! This is such a great idea I came up with—I should take a picture! With a swift dash, I head for the door, but I receive a large bump to the head instead; finding myself on the floor, I grasp my head in pain. Ugh. That wasn't the door…

"You forgot your glasses!" Declares the bear, holding up the spectacles for me.

And now time for the hard part—actually getting him to listen to me. I decide to educate him over a quick breakfast. I even offer him pancakes but only with melted butter because sugar drives him savage. Taking the fork and inspecting it, Kumajirou eyes the pancakes curiously and lifts a whole one into his mouth using the pronged tool so he can take little bites at a time—"like an adult," he would say.

"OK, Kumajirou," I get his attention. "Now, to be a good business meeting holder, you have to repeat what I tell you to say. It'll be fun—like a game. OK? Let's try it now. Repeat what I'm about to say." Acting all businessy, I puff up my chest and speak clearly, "Hello. And welcome to today's important meeting."

"Hello, and welcome to today's meeting," the bear returns.

"You're supposed to say _important_ meeting—copy exactly."

" _Important_ meeting," he repeats, putting special emphasis on "important."

"OK, now repeat what I say."

"Repeat what I say."

"No, don't repeat everything!"

"No! Don't repeat _everything_!"

I heave a sigh. Somehow I knew this would happen. "OK. New rule: only repeat the words after I say 'Say…' OK?"

"OK?" He looks up from the pancakes.

"Good. Say, 'Let's start with these charts.'"

"Let's start with these charts," he says confidently before devouring the final remains of the first pancake.

Yah. I think this will work out just fine… I say this is a good plan I came up with.

"This is a good plan I came up with," Kumajirou comments.

Oh, great. He copied me again. Well, it's mostly fool-proof, anyway. I happen to glance at the watch, and the numbers deliver the cruel truth. Ah! I'm going to be late! "Come on, Kumajirou!" I yell, scrambling to clean the kitchen and get myself out of the house as quickly as possible.

"My pancakes!" KJ complains.

"You can bring them with, OK? Just come on!"

It's rush hour again. And my nerves are at their limit.

We practiced our little lines game once more in the car on the way here. He seems to be listening to me quite well, but I'll keep my fingers crossed anyway. Kumjirou has a way of making me feel too secure and then acting like a total misfit and spoiled child once I let him loose.

Once I take him out of the car, he insists he wants to walk like a "big boy" to the door instead of being carried by me as usual. Reluctantly, I allow him to walk beside me, but I hold his hand the whole way—an action which proves almost impossible because he's only about two feet tall and I about 5'8". I'm practically shaking from apprehension, but I try to hide it as best as I can; I really should probably trust Kumajirou a little. After all, we've known each other forever, and we've always been there for each other—though our "father/son relationship" could certainly use some improvement…and made-up words to serve as better adjectives rather than just "strange" or "not that great" or "confusing." Those words don't describe it too well. We just both kind of exist and happen to be there at the same cabin.

Soon, we reach the intimidating double doors, and I heave a sigh; my hand shakes as I reach to slam open the doors grandly. Oh, who am I kidding? I sneak inside as usual and hope that I am both noticed and unnoticed as usual. Taking deep breaths to shake away the jitters, my mind goes numb, and I feel like I'm going to hyperventilate. But I can't back away now.

I lift Kumajirou into the chair in the front of the room and set my stuff on the floor so as to organize it on the table and write something on the whiteboard. I loosen my tie a little because I feel like I'm going to choke. Ugh. What is wrong with me?

"OK, Kumajirou…remember what we practiced, OK?" I whisper to him

"OK!" the little bear replies enthusiastically with a bear thumbs-up.

Hehe. That's actually kinda cute. "All right… Say, 'Hello, and welcome to today's _important_ meeting.'"

Sitting up straight, the bear projects his words across the room. "Hello, and welcome to today's important meeting!" Though in an overly-energetic and childish way.

"Say, 'Please take a look at the graphs in front of you.'"

"Please take a look at the graphs in front of you!" To illustrate, he takes the paper before him and flutters it through the air so it makes a loud noise.

"Stop that," I whisper and put his arm down.

"As you can see," he continues suddenly, "there are lots of colors and numbers on it that mean something boring!"

"Uh…" I jump in, "They represent the current statistics."

"They're the current sat-is-tics."

" _Statistics_."

"Sateristics."

Sigh. I guess he can't say that word.

"Anyway," continues the little bear, "we have to try to get these orange numbers up. Because it's important for some reason."

"It will help with budgeting," I clarify.

"You and budgeting. That's all you think about," he delivers, turning to me.

"Don't talk back to me! Say, 'I have a plan to fix this.'"

"But I have a plan to fix this! Maybe. But if you have any ideas, I'm curious to hear them, too."

"No, I'm not!" I whisper shout.

One of the guys at the meeting responds with a completely random idea.

"That's a great idea!" Kumajirou says.

"No, it's not! Say 'That's a terrible idea!'" I correct frantically.

"That was sarcasm. I meant to say that's a terrible idea," KJ responds nonchalantly.

"What kind of image are you making of me?" I lower my head.

"Anyway, I have a cool idea, too." After making his statement, the little bear stays silent for what seems like a whole minute. Leaning his head back to me, he asks, "What's the plan again?"

"Sigh. It's to increase the output of blah blah blah to help sustain the blah blah of the national blah blah income."

He stares at me with a wide smile and blank eyes. "All I heard was blah blah blah blah blah blahbbedy blah blah blah."

I heave a giant sigh.

Just then, a rally odd noise like a child's music toy starts playing some random song.

"What in the world is that?"

Totally obliviously, Kumajirou is tapping on a kiddie keyboard (which the keys have nothing to do with the song, for it keeps playing when he stops) and looks up completely casually and states, "Sorry. My phone is ringing. I can't answer it. Or turn it off."

"Don't do that in a meeting!" Where did that thing come from, anyway?

"But that happens all the time."

Sigh. Kids these days.

"Revenons à nous mouton," I sigh, covering my face with an exasperated palm.

"So, anyway, I forgot what we were talking about. Let's take a nap break."

"What?!"

Unfortunately (or not), the others take him seriously, and we actually take a nap break. At least it calmed my nerves a little. Now I can finally try to get him to listen…zzzzzzzz

Huh? Is that that stupid kiddie keyboard again? Ugh. I rub my eyes and try to focus… Oh, gosh. It is. Kumajirou!

"My phone went off again." He replies with a wide smile.

I wonder if he does this on purpose just to mess with me or whether he is so oblivious that he doesn't even know he's smiling all the time.

"Just say, 'Let's continue the meeting.'" Is it possible to sigh this much in a single span of a couple hours?

"Let's continue the meeting," the bear declares.

I wish I really were invisible at times like this. Maybe not invisible, per se—just not here. I need something to eat or something—something with maple in it. "Here, Kumajirou. I wrote down the explanation on this piece of paper."

"Oh." Taking it in his fluffy paws, he peruses the piece of paper, turning it to all angles and directions. "I can't read it."

"…" I give up. I don't know, man.

"Whatever. Let's just increase the output of the regional companies to help sustain the levels of the national production income."

"What?! You mean he actually got it that time?!" Sigh. Well, my work here is done. Time to go home, eh?

"Let's take a snack break!" the bear declares, throwing out boxes of maple cookies.

"Seriously?!"

Well, for some strange reason, it seems the others liked Kumajirou as the head of the meetings. I guess I can't complain since he _did_ listen to what I said. Sigh. I guess even though it bothered me, it wasn't my worst idea ever. Maybe he just needs more practice…

Falling into the couch at home, I can finally relax and forget about the world—including me. I don't even know where KJ is now; I just hope he's staying out of trouble.

Suddenly, the door raps, and the sound startles me from my cat nap. Ah! What is it now?! Leave me alone—Oh. It's Big Brother for some reason.

He's flushing from embarrassment and looking down with a sad expression.

"What is it?"

"Um…So…I hear your bear is good at holding meetings?" he manages to say.

"What?!" Don't tell me rumors travel _that_ quickly! "Um. Why?"

"Because I have so many things to do tomorrow…and I don't think I can make it to the monthly beautiful meeting of the minds."

Pff. _Beautiful_ meeting? "Well…"

"Not unless you pay me!" The little bear appears behind me, ready to negotiate.

"OK. How much to you want?" he asks, pouting. Man, he must be desperate.

"Smoked salmon for a whole week!"

Initially, he's shocked, but we all know how he feels about being asked to cook—it's like telling him he's prettier than flowers.

"Ah! It's a deal, then!" And suddenly, he's back to normal.

"Wait. What just happened?!" I'm so confused, man. Am I dreaming or something? Whatever. I'm going back to sleep. Not that I ever got to sleep in the first place.

"Do you mind if I stay a while?" France calls out.

"Knock yourself out," I comment as I pass out on the couch.

"Yay~!" he sings, spinning through the room like a frilly schoolgirl.

I'll never understand that guy.

It's only a matter of seconds until the phone rings…and my bothersome brother, America, asks for KJ's paid assistance. He's paying him in doughnuts.


End file.
